


The Monster I want bad.

by LoonyFred



Category: Black Sails, Treasure Island - Fandom, Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Billy's backstory, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 12:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3692469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyFred/pseuds/LoonyFred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The memories Billy has of being rescued from slavery by Flint and his men. Warning: implications of non-con happening with Billy during his years as a slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Monster I want bad.

**Chapter 1. Rescue**

 

“Black sails!” they shouted.

Then there was silence, and then all I could hear was the never-ending drumbeat of dozens of heavy boots beating a wild chaotic rhythm on the wooden deck.

Pirates, huh? Well, who cares? I certainly didn’t. After all, I was all too likely to be dead soon, should it come one way or another.

“The banner! It’s Captain Flint’s!”

The name did send a nasty cold shiver down my spine. I clenched the teeth from a sudden pain attack in my stomach. Good Lord, it hurt like hell!

I heard from my prisoners once, not all pirate crews were scary and deadly, some of the men were just lucky entrepreneurs with little respect for the law, but Captain Flint and his crew… They did have quite a reputation. All rumors, of course, but if what was said about Flint and his men was even halfway true, we were all seriously fucked here on “Glory”. Well, fine, I already was as good as dead, but I sure as hell didn’t envy the bastards up there.

I felt my upper lip twitch at the thought of the sick jerk being skillfully gutted by the monsters of Flint’s crew. Shit. I wish I could see it. I wish I could do it myself.

It had been three fucking years already. Three years of torment, of anguish; all those years I had to bear the sick tricks and be silent about it. You see, I got beaten like shit for every word; every single screech or squeal of pain only brought more. And there hasn’t been a day without dreams of slicing the bastard’s throat or choking him with my bare hands. I felt disgusted with the violent urges, true, but I just couldn’t help it: the mere thought of watching life slowly escaping his eyes would calm me down, even soothe the pain for the time being.

They were still running and shouting. True havoc all over the deck, and here… just deadly peace. I sat in the dark dreaming about being up there, free again. Just so I could help the pirates win the easiest prize by slaughtering the ship owner before a soul got to board her.

I heard more voices; many more heavy steps. I heard anguished screams, and those heavy sounds, like the one a big sack of grain would make once dropped on the ground. Those heavy sounds, you know? Must have been the bodies. Was he dead? Could he be dead already, I kept asking myself.

No one’s gonna find me, I thought for a second. If the pirates sank “Glory”, I`d probably go down with her, cause no one would know about me, locked in this very private closet. Who’d even bother to check. Right?

I was fighting fear. Wanted to shout, let them know I was here. The situation couldn’t get any worse after all: even if the pirates did kill me, at least the pain would stop, and I`d choose that any moment over this constant bitter vigilance that couldn’t be called life anymore.

“Help!”, I tried to scream, but only a weak gasp managed to escape my dry mouth.  
“Help!”, I croaked again.  
“Help! Please!”, I tried again, louder this time.

I heard them steps: a man hurried down the long corridor. Stopped at the door. I was still, silent, barely breathing.

A pistol went off, and the lock fell on the floor with a loud clink. A high screech pierced the air, and just a moment later, squinting my sore eyes, I saw a red haired man in front of me. He wasn’t tall or packed with muscles, but his gorgeous fine posture took my breath away, and the first gaze of the pure sea green of his eyes, full of genuine compassion, gave me some feeling, I knew, I’d never forget. His look was intense, yet not in the least violent. His lips, twitching in disgust. Not with me – I somehow knew it - but with the man who`d tied me up, bruised me all over, and kept me stashed in the closet like a piece of garbage.

“Jesus, he’s just a kid”, the man muttered to himself.

Behind him, I saw others: a chubby older guy with a big moustache, some black kid, a young Chinese fellow... Some others, too. I looked at the ginger once again.

“What the fuck are you staring at?” he asked his comrades, his voice high with intense emotion. “Release him!”

Yet he waited for no one to fulfill the order, rushing forward himself to help me get rid of the ropes around my neck, hands and ankles. He worked through them ropes with that enormous cutlass of his, all happening so quickly… what, am I free now?

My body felt different. I had almost forgotten how it felt, not having tight ropes biting through my skin. I wanted to stand up, but I couldn’t, my body still weak from all the beating and torture.

“Get fucking lost!” the ginger roared at his mates, without even turning back to them.  
“Aye, Captain!” someone said, as they began clearing the cramped corridor.

He knelt down. I shook and shivered. He had both arms slightly lifted, clearly not knowing what to do, yet (I could see it) so eager to do something, touch me in a way that would comfort, not hurt.  
So there he was, the Flint? This slender little man, kneeling before me? Is he really the one who seeds terror among honest British citizens, merchants and sailors?

“What’s your name ‘bones’?”, he asked with a smile, unexpectedly warm and compassionate.  
“Billy, mister”.  
“My name’s James Flint. I`m not going to hurt you”, peace and reassurance sounded strong in his voice. “What was going on with you, Billy?” he asked, placing his hands on my shoulders. I gave a nervous shiver and a loud sob. I feared he’d soon take his hands off me, and I didn’t want that: for some strange reason Flint’s touch gave me the comfort, so I leaned in closer.  
“No…” I kept sobbing. “I can’t tell…”  
“Shh… It’s alright, Billy”, I felt strong fingers massage my neck. Nice and warm. I must’ve been crazy at the time, but standing next to him felt like safety.

I relaxed and let him fetch me, resting my head on the stiff cotton of his bloodstained shirt that used to be white one day. He grabbed me tight, pressing closer to his chest. That’s when I lost it. I shook, and wept, and bawled so loudly, biting the stiff salty cloth of the shirt on his shoulder. Flint was there, holding me, giving me the warm touch of his body, which I needed so badly. I was just a kid, for fuck’s sake! I didn’t deserve all the pain, all the torture. I was almost broken, I was, but for a brief moment I sensed something besides the anguish. For a split second, I could have sworn I felt happy having Flint’s arms all around me, and the hot soothing whisper in my ear: “I give you my word, Billy, I’ll protect you.”

Flint, too, knew I didn’t deserve it. He stayed with me until I was no longer shaking.  
“Is he dead?” I asked, clutching the sleeves of Flint’s shirt, looking him right in the eyes.  
“No,” he said, and grinned maliciously, as if having already guessed what I was about to ask next.  
I never had to ask, though.  
“Come”, Flint got on his feet, supporting me with one arm around my waist to help me up. “You’ll do whatever you please with the sick fuck”  
“I only want one thing”, I hissed.

He gave me a nod. I still often ask myself: why do it? Why give a fifteen-year-old a cutlass and watch the kid end someone bloody? I certainly wouldn’t do it now, would I? But still, at the time I remember I felt gratitude and awe. Captain Flint, clearly feared by his crew, was, indeed, wild and furious, and wicked. They were right to be scared. We are all right to be scared of him.

But is it only me, who’s always seen a man in James Flint, not a legendary monster? I know there is more to him: his nature, though very deep, and dark, is also warm, and caring, and so painfully human. Why would he ever choose to show this to me, his true self? I’ll likely never know.

All I know is I just need this man. I’ve needed him since the very first day we met.

_to be continued_


End file.
